In my late twenties I made a shift from pastoring a mid-sized congregation in Minnesota to planting a church in the heart of San Francisco. Beyond the obvious cultural adjustments, the most challenging aspect of this transition was how my identity as a pastor was called into question.

In Minnesota, when people at the gym or grocery store found out I was a pastor, they were kind and deferential. They might ask a theological question, tell me about a personal problem, or sheepishly apologize for cussing in front of me.

In San Francisco, when I told people I was a pastor, the reaction was starkly different. The vocation seemed to provoke outbursts of profanity followed by diatribes about inquisitions, crusades, slavery, and religiously-motivated hate crimes. For many people I met, religion had been a source of hurt rather than healing. They were suspicious of my motives and what my office represented.

Relocation opened my eyes to two disparate views of the pastor's position. In the Midwest, ...